Goodbye John
by justcallmethedoctor
Summary: "Sherlock needed to escape." John/Sherlock. Rated T for descriptions of self harm and a suicide attempt. Not overly graphic but don't read if you find it triggering.


**Show:** BBC Sherlock

**Pairing: **John/Sherlock

**Warnings: **Descriptions of self harm and suicide attempt. Please don't read you find this content triggering.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own the characters. They belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle originally, the BBC versions belong to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.

**A/N: **First fanfiction ever, apologies for poor writing. Constructive criticism welcome. Spoiler: happy-ish ending ;)

**Goodbye John**

Sherlock could never explain what it was like in his head. It was like a constant screaming, like somebody ranting and running around in hysterics. It was always busy. Always working. Always deducing and observing. _Always_. Sherlock needed to escape. He used to find this outlet through drugs but he had decided that it was too damaging to his body and he needed that body, naturally. How can one solve cases without a body?  
>So this is how we get to this scene. Sherlock, his sleeves rolled up leaning against the skin, contemplating whether or not to get the blades. He studied the exposed skin, it sure had been a while. Thin parallel lines covered his entire forearm, all in different stages of healing. Some still slightly pink and purple; others bright white. At this point John had gone out with Sarah. Sherlock hissed at the thought of<em> her<em>. And him. Together. He'd be at least another hour or so, giving him the perfect amount of time. Yes that's what he needed. Time. Holmes opened the cabinet and reached for the small wooden box carefully hiden at the back. He took his time selecting a razor. Today called for a particularly sharp one. He slashed his arm a few times experimentally, testing the blade. His mind began to clear, it was almost euphoric. "Yes, that'll do." he muttered under his breath. The slashes slowly became deeper and more furious. Sherlock pulled the blade across the skin uncountable times, the blood made it difficult to find uncut skin but he didn't care. He had no direction or method - he was just cutting. He hated himself, he hated his mind, he hated that damn Sarah and most importantly he hated this. All of this. He knew what he was going, no needed to do.

The cab pulled up right outside the flat and John threw a couple of notes the driver's way. "Right, time to face him" John thought to himself. He quickly opened the door and on his way in shouted up to Sherlock "I'm home, date didn't go so well, but you probably know that". Silence. "Sherlock?" John called. He wandered around the flat in a half-arsed attempt to find him until he came across something rather peculiar. Sherlock's door was open. Sherlock's door was NEVER open. "Sherlock..." his voice was slower now, more alarmed. He cautiously made his way into the room and paused at the door of the en suite. John lifted his hand a slowly knocked. No reply. "I-I'm coming in". And that was it.  
>"Sher- Oh God... Sherlock?" John was already on his knees by his side. There was so much blood. He knew it wasn't good, that much blood. Blood everywhere, it was all he could see. John called the ambulance and although he struggled to speak they said they were on their way. John grabbed Sherlock's hand and pulled a scrap of white paper from it. It read as follows;<p>

_Dear John,_

_The screaming in my head won't stop. It never stops. Always whirring and never leaves me alone. I can't do this._  
><em>It feels odd to pour my heart onto a page. I suppose this is, as they say, my last chance to tell you. I've never had the need for emotions and certainly never had the need to vocalise them (or write them down for that matter). But John, my dearest Watson, you make me feel. You make me feel things that I've never felt. And this is becoming so terribly corny and cliche but John you made life bearable and I love you.<em>

_Goodybe John_

_-SH_

Tears had long settled on his cheeks and showed no signs of stopping. Sherlock loved him? The sociopath he had given up hope with LOVED him? The sobs grew harder and continued to grow until the ambulance arrived.

"He's very lucky Mr. Watson, had he lost half a pint more blood he would not be here today. I'll leave you two alone" The female doctor said before leaving. John was sat by his bedside clutching onto his hand. He hadn't moved from this position for several hours. Sherlock was still unconscious but the doctor had said he should wake up soon. John took this moment to just watch Sherlock. He truly was beautiful with that pale skin, unruly hair and ridiculously prominent cheekbones.

"J-John?" Sherlock was suddenly staring at him.

"Don't pull anything like that again" Tears had already found their way to the corners of John's eyes as he smiled weakly. "I'm sorry" He said, averting his eyes.

"...You're alive, I suppose that's all that matters"

A few seconds passed of silence, neither quite sure of what to say.

"Erm, I'm not going to try and talk to you about it by the way. The hospital, um, they've referred you to a therapist. Promise me you'll go"

"Naturallly, standard procedure" Sherlock replied.

"Just promise"

"Of course I will, I-" and then Sherlock's gaze dropped to the crumpled piece of paper held tight in John's fist. He could just about see his scrawled handwriting. "...shit"

And then a horrible silence loomed over the room. It seemed to go on forever. Just taunting the both of them. "..did you mean it?" John asked finally.  
>"Yes.." Sherlock said blushing ever so slightly and still not looking John in the eye.<p>

And then John's lips were on his. Only a slight brush at first until they both became sure of it. The kiss deepened and suddenly Sherlock's hand were in John's hair. Sherlock gently pulled away, taking John's face in his hands and examining it as if to gage what he was thinking. John watched Sherlock's eyes study him. Sherlock really did have the most beautiful eyes, deep and they almost sparkled. But something wasn't quite there, he seemed distant and...broken. His finger curled around the taller man's neck and John rested his forehead against his. "I love you so much" he breathed out. His voice was shaky and he hadn't meant for it to sound so desperate but he didn't care. Sherlock leaned in again and smiled as he kissed him gently and tenderly.

"Ahem"

"Well, well what do we have here? Doctor and the Freak finally got it on"

They instantly broke apart, their cheeks flushed as they turned to see Lestrade and Donovan standing in the doorway with a bunch of flowers and smirks on their faces.


End file.
